


Blackest Ocean

by bad_pheasants



Category: Supergirl (TV 2015)
Genre: Angst, Angsty Punching Bag, F/F, Near Death Experiences, Possessiveness, Post-Myriad, thank god we're alive
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-17
Updated: 2018-10-17
Packaged: 2019-08-03 09:05:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16323302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bad_pheasants/pseuds/bad_pheasants
Summary: Alex can't bring herself to ask Kara if she can come over.The Nat City skyline is unchanged—at least physically. Max and J’onn confirmed that things appear to be normal in the infrastructure—the power grid, mostly, and anything that can carry a signal. As far as you can ever trust Max Lord to tell you the whole story.So the sense of mutedness from the skyline is most likely not any lingering effect of Myriad.





	Blackest Ocean

**Author's Note:**

> Title from ["Animals"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cmPNsmIpock), by Lion-S
> 
> This piece brought to you by my deep-down conviction that Alex is the female embodiment of the "angsty hero punches a punching bag and we get gratuitous shots of their muscles" trope. 
> 
> This piece also brought to you by the little fact that the human body can survive up to fifteen (15) seconds of hard vacuum (thanks for that tidbit, Satan, and the headcanon that started this whole thing). That being said, I wouldn't put that to the test. Please, don't put that to the test. 
> 
> This piece _also_ brought to you by the fact that, after S1 and before the antis descended, Kalex was the sweet, soft pairing of the Supergirl fandom. Because, y'know, the people involved are consenting adults who actually love the hell out of each other and would literally go to the ends of the universe for each other, whether that's platonic like it is in canon, or definitely not platonic like in this fic. 
> 
> Because this piece has literally taken me two years to write. 
> 
> Also, this piece is... a trip. Lol. If it helps, think of it as a text-based moodboard.

Alex can't bring herself to ask Kara if she can come over.

The Nat City skyline is unchanged—at least physically. Max and J’onn confirmed that things appear to be normal in the infrastructure—the power grid, mostly, and anything that can carry a signal. As far as you can ever trust Max Lord to tell you the whole story.

So the sense of mutedness from the skyline is most likely not any lingering effect of Myriad.

It’s shock, she knows—hers, theirs. But mostly hers; mostly, that thick silence descending around the skyscrapers is just the dark following her down, down.

There’s a cold in the marrow of her bones, under her skin, that no amount of heat—water, skin, anything—can dispel. Every cell in her body hurts, worse than the months-long hangover that was quitting alcohol and starting DEO training.

She remembers hitting the override on the hatch of the pod and unfolding—into hard vacuum, anchored by the pod’s restraints, while the atmosphere in the pod steamed and shattered and dissipated like so much glitter. Autopilot steering Kara directly into her arms.

She’s not sure how long it took. She just knew that she wasn’t closing the hatch until she had Kara in her arms. Didn’t bother counting. She only had seconds.

The most vivid part isn’t the feeling of catching Kara in her arms, or the agony that washed through every cell after the hatch closed and life-support re-engaged, or the darkness that followed close on its heels as the pod took them back down to the DEO. The most vivid thing she remembers is standing up into the silence, and the dark.

And now the dark is descending all around her; following her down. In so many ways, she’s not sure that she actually came back.

Not that it matters; that’s the mission, every day—to come back a little less her old self.

There was a point, months into her training, where things began to turn around for her. Where she stopped feeling just _pain_ , and started feeling…

Quiet? Like she was _real_ , she could feel her skin, her muscles—painfully clearly—but all the noise in her head, _shoulds_  and hangovers and shitty decisions and displays of shame on repeat just… stopped. Was drowned out, by the white-noise hum of her body knitting itself back together, the stress-tear-recover rhythm undoing her old self and replacing it with someone new. And she realized she was, literally, becoming a different person.

And in true addict style, she kept coming back, over and over. To erase herself.

The weakness down deep in her muscles, where the tendons root into the bone—it’s familiar, _good_. Makes her feel like a blank slate. Brings her back to zero. Means it _worked_. Her arms and legs feel almost too heavy to move; even her pores feel bruised.

Everything is almost silent; it’s bliss, compared to what it could be.

She can even text Kara—she shooed her off to go out with James—and feel like everything’s at its proper distance. Like it's about time, or something like that. James makes her smile; makes her happy. Kara deserves to be happy; Alex told her to go. That’s the way it should be, that distant voice says.

_I will always need you._

It’s not like before; not when she had Kara locked out. Kara was right, that night in her apartment, red Kryptonite pulsing under her skin. Keeping the DEO from Kara was another way for her to stay in control, to have something that Kara couldn’t take. To stay a step ahead, because how do you stay _relevant_  to someone like that, how do you stay anything at all—to someone like _Kara_? Kara with her eagerness to do the right thing, with her kindness and her compassion and she doesn’t get, she _never got_ , that once she got to Alex’s level—

There’s nothing else to Alex. Nothing except for Kara.

And then she let Kara in, and now Kara’s left her behind, just like she was afraid would happen. Kara doesn’t need her anymore, but Alex still comes back to it, comes back to _them_ , like picking at a scab. For Alex, this is as good as it gets.

She could text Kara. She could tell her anything. But it wouldn’t make a difference. Not like this.

Not when Kara is out building the life she deserves to have.

Not when she thinks of Kara’s face and sees Kara looking up at her, fear and pain and nausea written on it, cast in green.

Or Kara’s face, blue-tinged and lifeless, floating into her arms.

Her fists flex involuntarily, and she’s on her feet without remembering standing up. Her vision goes grey and she sways; doc warned her she wouldn’t be ready for any kind of action for a couple days.

But not even hard vacuum, the dark and the silence, not even the feeling of her body pulling itself back from the brink, can shut this off, drown it out.

She strips out of her "lazy" sweatpants and binds her hands and starts practicing—she shadowboxes until she starts to slip out of the mindset she's been in all evening. Until the endorphins start to mute the ache in her muscles.

Which means she’s potentially re-opening serious injuries. Which, Hank will kill her if she hurts herself _worse_  while she’s off duty.

It still hits her at the worst moments—green light, blue eyes, dead silence so profound it echoes in her bones. Nothing. _Nothing. You’re nothing._

_Without me, you’re nothing._

She shifts into a faster pace.

She switches into a circuit that Hank started her on during her early days at the DEO—her favorite. Modified for her current condition—she needs to get out of her head, not taken back to medical tomorrow because she overdid it and needs an extra dose of whatever regenerative drug they can scrounge up (and get another “diminishing returns” lecture— _“Once you’ve exhausted your body’s reserves enough, this drug won’t work; it only works on what you have available”_ ).

And every cell in her body is shouting—It’s _inside_  her head, in her skin, the lines and the limits of her body, that hold everything in. A guttering little ember against the black.

Like the city around her. Little metal specks against the sky. Like the planet, with its thumbnail of atmospheric fabric she punched through into… nothing.

Nothing. Nothing. Nothing.

The knock on her door brings her back to reality. Her muscles are shaky-loose—that state of over-exertion where nothing works right and everything’s twitching. She’s made it through the circuit once, and halfway through again.

She frowns and checks her phone; she wasn't expecting anyone. There's a few texts from Kara, and one asking if it'd be okay if Kara could come over. Her stomach clenches. _She shouldn’t._

Alex isn’t sure if that’s supposed to be about Kara, or herself.

It could be someone else, anyways. She checks her gun and pads over to the door and peeks through the glass.

It’s Kara. Looking nervous and looking down at her hands; head tilted forward, hair loose and falling around her face while she chews on her lip. Alex's chest hurts—Kara's one of those people who—at least when she's not Supergirl—hides behind her hair. Used to at school, all the time.

She sticks the gun in the back of her sweatpants and opens the door, trying to ignore the shaking in her hands, and there's Kara, no glass and no distortions between them, looking so fragile. And Alex loses the ability to form words.

Like a star falling right on her doorstep. Every time.

"Is it alright if I come in?" Kara asks after a long moment where they don't speak, or move.

"Yeah," For how lost for words she just was, it comes out surprisingly easily. "Yeah. Come in." She moves aside for Kara (she always moves for Kara), and Kara looks so _relieved_.

She can feel the warmth of Kara’s body moving past her, but she’s at a loss—is this where Kara hugs her? Or—does she—

She shuts and latches the door behind Kara, and places her sidearm on the counter.

Kara’s so _close_ ; is it the lingering chill that makes Alex so aware of her body heat?

But Alex has to swallow, has to let her arms fall to her sides uselessly, because she can’t. Not even to reach out and touch her, just affirm that she's _there_  and _alive_.

Twelve years of their language of touch, carefully built—and it’s all tainted, now. Every touch is a broken bone, every time Alex reaches out it’s not under her control, every brush of her fingertips is a lunge, a stab, is a blade burying into concrete and _smoking_  there.

Is Kara leaving without so much as hugging her before flying Fort Rozz up into space. Is Alex pulling her out of Rao’s light—because Alex needs her.

_Nothing._

"Sorry, I was working out." Alex starts, trying to fill the silence. "I thought you were with James."

Kara shifts, one arm crossed over her body and her hand hanging onto her opposite arm. "Yeah. I just wasn't feeling up to it. I'd just… rather be with you. Right now."

Alex nods. "Of course."

She can't bring herself to say no to Kara, and part of her wants to hate herself for that—Kara should be with James, or her friends, or anyone other than _her_.

"Is there anything I can get you?" Her apartment has exactly one case of water, one case of Gatorade, and most of the edible things are in the freezer. Her fridge is pretty much bare except for the beer and the half-eaten sandwich from her last lunch with Kara (that's well past its expiration date and she should probably throw out).

Kara shrugs awkwardly. "I was gonna order pizza. Is that alright?"

And it is, of course, and so for a couple minutes, Alex gets to avoid the tension between them while she runs to get her laptop for Kara.

Alex’s laptop _is_  her TV, so once Kara finishes ordering, they move over to the couch to start setting up Netflix—

And then freeze, because at this point, what they'd do is cuddle. But Alex can't close that distance between them.

Kara's eyes are soft and vulnerable in the dim living room with its cheap couch and yard-sale-quality free-standing lamp. Her hair covers half her face and Alex can't breathe or speak or move.

Carefully, Kara reaches out with one hand, and Alex can't ever let her down. Even if it feels so wrong to be touching Kara when, what feels like the last time she touched her, she tried to kill her.

Kara’s fingers thread through Alex’s; their palms press flush together.

And if there's tenderness and familiarity there, there's also violence and disappointment, now. There's lies and there's broken bones and goodbyes and it's a little like touching a wound, too, even though it still feels like them. Even if it's like breathing to reach for each other.

And when Alex finally has to let go, it's not because she doesn't want to be touching Kara, it's just that she can feel the hurt and the vulnerability like she does the ache in her hands when the weather changes. Kara’s skin without her powers—she’s not sure if she can feel a difference, if Kara feels softer like this, or not. Maybe it’s the difference in her grip; Kara at human levels of strength.

They're so fragile like this. They could hurt each other again so easily. And for the first time, she doesn't know if this can fix it—because isn’t this exactly how they hurt each other? Skin-to-skin, where it hurts, where it _stays_. Everything is tainted.

 

"Please don't lock me out, Alex." It's so quiet, but Alex thinks she can hear a slight tremor in Kara's voice. Her chest aches.

She nods. And then Kara's reaching out and wrapping her arms around Alex. And Alex can’t unfold, can’t do more than bow her head and raise her hand and hang onto Kara’s arm across her chest and let Kara’s presence melt into all the cracks in her being—but there's a need there that's never going to go away.

Alex feels her throat un-freeze: "I'm really proud of you." She admits. She might've chided Kara, before, for being reckless, for putting her life on the line like that. And she still feels that terror echoing through her body. But she's finally unable to make herself do that to Kara.

They've both changed so much in the last week that it seems like they're strangers in some ways—capacities they never knew they had, choices they never knew they'd have to make, ways they never imagined they could hurt each other. But Kara still noses into the curve of her shoulder like she needs the warmth of Alex's skin and the reassurance of her presence, and Alex is crumbling.

And this close? They might be broken, but they're not strangers at all.

"Thanks." Kara manages finally, and her voice is thick with emotion. Alex feels Kara squeezing her with all she's got—and it aches a little, but it's a human-level ache.

And they stay like that until the pizza gets there.

Neither of them are very hungry—Kara eats an okay amount. Alex can't make herself eat. Kara finally squeezes her leg and offers her a slice. Alex sighs and takes it. A corner of Kara’s mouth tucks upward.

"I know. Feeding your body. Horrible."

Alex rolls her eyes exaggeratedly—then lets out a surprised sound when the flavor hits her tongue and her stomach growls loudly and _oh_ , okay. She was hungry. Kara _almost_  laughs.

Neither of them pay any attention to whatever show they put on. Kara starts out leaning back against Alex’s chest, their usual rhythm for movie nights—Alex gives Kara reassurance, and in return, she gets to keep her head above water and let the weight of Kara’s body press her back into the couch cushions at the same time. Gets to feel the weight of Kara’s head resting on her chest. Gets to thread her fingers through Kara’s hair, so gently, and let Kara’s weight and warmth and the weight of _protect her_  bring her back down to Earth. Back down here.

But Alex doesn’t feel anything. The images on whatever show they’re watching flash by and all Alex sees is the dark crawling through the windows. Ice crawling through her veins. Deep tissues freezing. And it could be the solar flare, but Kara just doesn't feel as warm as usual. Doesn’t radiate through her whole body. Kara doesn’t need her—a light weight on her chest, something that could float away at any moment.

She feels Kara move, and breaks out of her reverie to find Kara looking at her.

Kara tilts her head to one side and looks at her questioningly. Any other time, Alex might have it in her to say no, but not right now. Not when Kara is offering to wrap Alex up and all Alex wants is to be sure Kara is okay. 

She nods, and they switch places, and Alex silently sinks in against Kara’s chest. Kara’s uncertain arms wrap around Alex’s body, and Alex lets herself be enveloped, lets herself melt into her and she doesn’t deserve it, but Kara pulls her close, and it’s her choice, so that's enough for Alex to let herself cling to her.

//

They end up falling asleep on the couch—both of them too thoroughly exhausted and hurt to pretend that either of them wants the other to leave.

They wake up and it’s pitch-dark—well, as “pitch” dark as Nat City ever gets. Quiet enough that the nightlife has to be coming to a close. They shuffle back to the bedroom, an accordion of tangled fingers and bumping into each other when they try to stay close and are too uncoordinated to make it work. Flop down on Alex’s bed, and somehow find their way under the covers, nestling close, Kara gathering Alex up in her arms and tucking Alex’s head under her chin.

//

Alex doesn’t know where she is when she wakes up. Soft, warm, surrounded, paint on the walls like the inside of an apartment—

“Hey. Hey, it’s okay. You’re okay. It’s just me. You’re home.”

Alex gasps. Air, that’s air—she remembers closing her mouth thinking if she opened it, everything would freeze. She’d swallow stardust. Her lungs fill, empty, chest heaving—she doesn’t feel the air.

The burn in her skin echoes, icy needles stabbing down to the bone. Distantly, there’s pressure on her arms, around her body—touch. But it doesn’t penetrate the cold. Can’t touch her.

“Alex, it’s okay. You’re safe.”

_Safe._  As if anything could ever be safe again. As if her own body could—

She clings to the body next to her, knowing on some level it’s something important to her, it’s precious, even; holds on even though her limbs are full of ice, full of kryptonite, full of poison and violence, despite the warmth she knows is there, somewhere, between them. Clings and clings. Presses her face to Kara’s neck and feels her breathe, feels her heartbeat, the vibration of her voice, while the memories, the violence, washes over her, wave after wave.

Kara’s here. Kara’s alive. She’s alive.

“It’s okay. It’s okay, I’m here.”

_You left_ , Alex wants to say, _You didn’t even say goodbye_.

_You were going to leave me alone._

And it’s selfish, it’s so _selfish_ , because if she hadn’t done what she did, they’d literally all be dead right now. The entire human species.

And anyways—she’s _here_ , _now_. She came back. What does Alex really have to complain about, or cling to Kara like she’s going away for good?

But Kara didn't come back. Not the same. 

There's something different about this time. Different than all the other times they walked out the door knowing that they might not come back. Different than all the other times they almost didn't. The stakes, maybe. 

But no. It's more than that. 

This is so much bigger than them. She keeps looking at Kara and expecting to see—something. Something tangible, a marker of the weight that's settled around them, the shell-shock of this vast entire world. 

And Kara, who put it all on her shoulders. Alex keeps expecting to see more, but it's there and gone. There, and gone. Kara's arms are around her, and they're just... arms. But Alex is falling through space, is struggling to breathe all of this new reality in. 

There's a word for this, but it's lodged under Alex's tongue, weighs down her voice; this thing that echoes in the air around them. It's not like they called her it lightly, before. It's not like it was empty to Alex. 

But here she is, with a fully-fledged _hero_ in her bed, and she can’t take that away from Kara, not when that’s what Kara _is_ , when it’s the natural outcome of everything she’s been through, every choice she’s made.

But it takes Kara away from her.

Kara never _belonged_  to her, Alex knows; she was always just pretending. But she’s lost something, regardless.

And now Kara’s in her bed, but she belongs to _them_ , and she doesn’t need Alex anymore; Alex is holding her back.

_I will always need you._

That girl is dead.

Now, Kara’s in her bed, but is that just muscle memory?

Or is _Kara_  just a memory? And they’re both still out there floating in space, out of time. The memory of a sister, a girl, someone who looked up to her, someone who needed her. The memory of someone who wanted to be a hero.

And now she is, because she did what heroes do and she died for something.

Maybe Kara is still here, still walking around, by some miracle, but there’s a line, somewhere, and everything before it is just… gone.

And all that's left is shadows clinging to each other in the dark, hurting. So many ghosts. 

The flood of memories eases, but the sense of unreality doesn’t, not really. Her arms relax, her breathing eases. Kara’s arms loosen. Alex pulls back so she can look Kara in the eye, make sure she’s still here.

How do you reach out through what they’ve done?

Kara is inches away from her, and Alex _can’t_. She can’t even ask her to stay, because what Kara wants is so unfathomably _good_  and right, and how can she want to take that away from her?

Alex’s ears are ringing with the silence of the pod. Kara’s skin is silvered and slatted with shadow, color flattened into pallor and darkness. She watches Alex in the dark, eyes wide and careful, almost hesitant.

Alex doesn’t know how someone can embody something so _old_ , so ancient and powerful that they write books comparing her and her kind to _gods_ , and then be… this. A girl in Alex’s bed, stripped down to underwear, soft skin under her fingertips, looking at Alex like she has the answers to something life-changing.

She grabs onto Kara’s forearm and hangs on for dear life when Kara reaches up to touch her face. Kara’s eyes are wide and almost frightened and Alex can’t look away from them.

Fingertips smooth down the side of her face, warm and trembling. A trail of sound follows in their wake—their breathing, the AC system, the sounds of the city outside—and then a brief chill. Tears.

_Alive_.

It dissipates all too soon. The darkness keeps settling around them, and the nightmare keeps creeping up the inside of her skull like a water line, turning them into strangers all over again.

The fear in Kara’s eyes fades a little; the rawness from earlier takes its place. Kara strokes down Alex’s face again, sliding her fingers into Alex’s hair and cupping her cheek and stroking softly with her thumb. Alex’s hand relaxes on Kara’s arm, thumb rubbing circles into her skin. Kara’s eyes fill up with sureness, and Alex sees her leaning in, and is frozen to the spot.

It’s—it’s not a _kiss_. Well, it _is_  a kiss, but not one like any Alex has had before. It’s not fireworks, or explosives, or light, or butterflies or nerves. There’s an indescribable relief that runs through her when their lips meet. A certainty, in the warmth and softness of the touch, of the way Kara moves and responds.

She’s alive. Kara’s alive. And she’s here. Breath rushing on Alex’s skin, hand resting softly on her cheek, and her lips moving on Alex’s. _I’m alright_. _I'm alright_.

Full and lingering and deceptively gentle; Alex’s heart is racing—with desperation, not want. She needs to be _sure_. And she knows right now they’re both made of glass; everything about this moment is. Soft strokes of her tongue, against Kara’s lips, Kara’s tongue, surrounded by the heat and the faint pulse of Kara’s body. _Living_  body.

Alex needs to _taste_  it.

They slip deeper into each other until they’re pressed front-to-front and their legs are tangled up. It’s the only way to still be sure. One of Kara’s hands is tangled in Alex’s hair; Alex’s hands wander everywhere, all over Kara’s body, lingering on her neck, her chest—Kara’s breath hitches slightly when Alex palms over her breasts, thick part of her thumb dragging over her nipple, making Kara squirm slightly—but her breathing (their breathing) stays remarkably even, the desperation flattening any simple physical reaction. _More_. Running her hand down Kara’s abs, muscle flexing as Kara breathes, arches into her hand; Alex, needing to know Kara’s still whole, know with her own hands.

Deep down, underneath, she’s still so cold. Still gasping barely above the water line. Kara is solid and rippling under her hands. Still _warm_ , even if she’s only human-warm now.

Everything around them is all so familiar. _Should_  be familiar. The city, the sleep-scent—even the kiss, something new, feels like just an extension of something they’ve shared for a long time now.

It’s all broken around them like an eggshell.

And Alex isn’t sure if this an end, or a beginning, or if it’s just a fever-dream. The two of them becoming, becoming, becoming, clinging tight so they don’t pull away from each other in the tide.

She doesn’t know if there’s anything left to hold onto.

_I will_  always _need you._

Alex’s hands slide around to Kara’s back, splaying wide, like Kara might just _stop_  somewhere where she shouldn’t, like she might fracture into a thousand pieces and slip through Alex’s fingers, like Alex is searching for the jagged edges that she can feel inside herself, raw and broken—but her hands only find soft skin, the soft curve of Kara’s lower back, the shape of her spine, her shoulder blades, lines of moving living muscle. _Deeper_. The vibration she feels in Kara’s chest could be a sound, or a caught sound; the different is so small that they might as well be indistinguishable.

Kara’s free arm, the one with the hand not buried in Alex’s hair, wraps around her waist.

Kara’s leg slots perfectly through hers, angled so that her thigh presses against Alex’s cunt, direct and heavy. It’s like a circuit completed; her thigh, the press where their hips rest against each other. Alex’s thigh finds its way to a similar spot between Kara’s legs. Kara presses close, either unaware, or just not caring, and Alex can feel them breathing into each other, can feel Kara through the shorts she’s wearing, her hips rocking softly against her. It chases out the cold, seals the cracks with the heat of their bodies pressed together.

It doesn’t _feel_ sexual. Alex can feel so many wounds in the smooth skin under her fingertips: harsh words, betrayals, broken bones, a green glow.

_Astra._

Alex’s jaw aches a little from the kissing. There’s a center to this, somewhere under her hands on Kara’s back, somewhere around the core of their bodies, where they breathe together.

_“You found me. You came and found me.”_

_“I had to.”_

_I either come back with her, or I don’t come back at all._

_"I’m not leaving. I’m not _leaving_. _

_"Please don’t make me go."_

That core of something builds and builds. The sharp flex of fingers into bare skin; something defiant and bare and _small_ against the backdrop of all of this. Fault lines under Alex's hands, broken pieces, heat between their skins, flooding out of exhausted, shaking muscles. Almost, _almost_ enough to feel like something's knitting back together. Kara clings to her suddenly. 

_"Please don’t make me go."_

Alex lets her lips part against Kara’s, soothes the plea on them, bruised lower lip, swollen upper lip. Kara sighs against her. It's not a promise; but this really isn't the time for those. Not when either of them could be asked to leave all of this behind at any time. Not when it feels like they're all that's left behind, after... After.  

But broken open like this, ground down and nameless, she can take her in, closer to the bone, closer to her heart. Can wrap her arms around her and know that when healing comes—if healing comes—

_Part of me._  She can feel her in her skin, in her breath. She'll hold her with every cell of her body. Know when she rebuilds everything that Kara's in the fiber of her. At the zero of her. 

_"Stay. Please, stay."_

 


End file.
